


the blossom to the root

by aflockofwildbirds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflockofwildbirds/pseuds/aflockofwildbirds
Summary: Hermione Granger should have died at the Ministry but she's still alive- if you can call it that. Dumbledore arranges a Potions apprenticeship with her least favorite teacher to keep her mind off her nightmares. Can she survive this time? Or will Snape finish what Dolohov started?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	1. should you need us

“Severus. I am not asking you,” Dumbledore said coolly, surveying the younger man from behind his crescent-shaped glasses. 

“You have never asked anything of me, headmaster. You’ve made that quite clear to me numerous times,” Severus replied, eyebrow raised. 

“Very well. You will help Miss Granger. She will act as your apprentice this term and the following and you will treat her as she deserves to be treated.” Dumbledore ran a wizened hand along the crystal rim of the pensieve, directing his anger towards the swirling memories in the basin. 

“Fine,” Severus spat, a sneer plastered across his pallid features. “I will allow her to be my apprentice but I expect her to act professionally. If she asks any number of idiotic questions I will not answer them.” 

“I expected as much from you. I can make no promises, but I assure you that Miss Granger is not the young woman you remember her to be. Not since the battle at the Ministry.” 

Snape cocked an eyebrow and collapsed into one of the plush chintz armchairs guarding Dumbledore’s desk. “I had no idea she was so affected. The rest of her friends seem as obnoxious as ever.” 

“Dolohov nearly killed her, Severus. That is no small thing.” Dumbledore began to pace, a crease appearing in his forehead. 

“Maybe for her. I was very nearly murdered in my fifth year and I survived without subjecting my teachers to my misery. As you may recall, I was forbidden to speak of it,” Severus hissed, crossing his thin arms tightly across his chest. 

“Clearly it meant a great deal to you,” Dumbledore said, ignoring Snape as he stood abruptly, wand appearing in his hand. 

“Fine. I will help her. Anything else I can do for you, Albus? Babysit Potter? Rehabilitate Draco? Give Longbottom dancing lessons?” Snape stood his ground, glaring at his employer. 

Dumbledore sighed, turning to face him, velvet robes swishing behind him. “No, Severus. That will be all. For now.” 

Severus snorted, storming to the door. Of all the idiotic, foolish things he’d been asked to do, this had to be-

“Severus?”

“What.” He muttered, refusing to face him. 

“She needs you.” 

Snape let out a deep breath, throwing the door open without another word. Dumbledore smiled, running an idle finger down Fawkes back, eyes twinkling merrily as the bird chirped his thanks. “They will be an interesting pair, won’t they?”


	2. the serpent's den

The knock came earlier than expected. Severus flicked a lazy eye to the clock on his desk. She was twenty minutes early. The heels of his dragon skin boots clicked on the cool stone floor, every noise he made reverberating in the cold gloom of the dungeons. Sometimes he missed living aboveground but more often than not the shadows and isolation suited him better than the cozy glow of the rest of the castle. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him skulking around up there anyway. 

He swung the door open and was met with a rather flustered-looking Hermione Granger, her chestnut curls straining against the ribbon that was desperately attempting to hold them back. She looked changed somehow, different from the bright-eyed and eager student he was used to. Her face held the weariness of war, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. She was nervous, something that Severus had never known in her. 

“Good evening sir,” She said, casting her gaze to the floor. 

“Miss Granger. You may come in.” Snape watched her as she tramped across his office to perch in the purposefully uncomfortable oak chair he kept for visitors. “I’m afraid I do not have much for you to accomplish tonight. I thought you might enjoy grading third-year essays.” 

Hermione snorted. “Why would I enjoy that?” 

“Do not act as if you do not love correcting the mistakes of others.” He replied, merely raising an eyebrow as she avoided his eyes, cheeks flushing. 

“And you don’t? You thrive off of correcting others. The whole castle loathes you because of it.” Hermione rummaged through her bag, pulling out her favorite quill, regardless of her apparent disdain of judging her classmates. 

“I believe there are a number of people who do not completely loathe me; my house for one.” Snape slid the parchment over to her, smirking as her eyes already began dancing across the paper. 

Hermione ignored him, choosing instead to cross out an entire paragraph. Severus took the opportunity to study her more closely. Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, and desolate. The faintest hint of a scar rose above her collar, a scar he knew split down her chest. The battle at the ministry had not been kind to her- he’d made sure to hex Dolohov as many times as possible for hurting one of his students, regardless of how annoying she was. He insisted on treating her himself. There was no one as familiar with the dark arts anyway and those idiots might have let her die. 

For a moment he thought her already dead. Dolohov had reduced her to ribbons, what was left of her chest stained her cotton nightgown a deep crimson. Severus spent hours healing her, his voice growing hoarse and alien with every incantation. Twelve hours and half his blood replenishing potion stores later, she was put back together. He hadn’t seen her since. 

“It’s rude to stare, sir.” Hermione murmured, her eyes not leaving the essay she had practically destroyed with corrections. 

Snape cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair and gazing up towards the stone ceiling. “My apologies, Miss Granger. I only wondered how you’ve been feeling.”

Hermione sighed, finally abandoning her merciless slaughter of poor first years. “Not you too.” 

“Whatever do you mean?”

“That’s all anyone asks me. How are you? What’s wrong? I don’t have an answer. I don’t particularly want to find one either.” Hermione stared at the older man before her, daring him to continue whatever this game was. Severus Snape didn’t care about anyone’s feelings. Especially hers. 

Severus cocked an eyebrow, gazing at her for a moment too long. “Have you been sleeping?” 

Hermione opened her mouth to fire off an insult but thought better of it. Why was he doing this? She expected something else from him. She thought he’d prod her, ask her about her scars, ask if she’d been eating or any other ridiculous questions that the adults in her life incessantly asked her. “No.” 

“Neither do I. I have something that may help.” Snape turned to the glass cabinet behind him, wordlessly undoing the wards before retrieving a large amber bottle. “Dreamless sleep. Be careful with it, it can be addicting. A few drops every night should do.” 

Hermione stared at his outstretched hand before gingerly retrieving the delicate vial. “Thank you, sir.” 

Snape shook his head. “It is a small thing. Should you need more, I will brew it for you.”   
“I don’t know what to say. This is very kind.” Hermione fought the urge to cry. The tears were never far away these days. She sobbed in broom closets, the prefect’s bathroom, before dinner, beneath the covers, anywhere she could find and often for no apparent reason. Snape’s office was not exactly a welcome place for teen tears though, and she was determined to succeed in her apprenticeship, even though it was a thinly veiled attempt for her professors to keep an eye on her. 

“Say nothing. I do not have time for my apprentice to fall asleep and cause her cauldron to explode,” Snape said curtly, careful not to betray his emotions. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone thanked him for anything. Not that he deserved anyone’s gratitude, but a little was nice. 

“Of course, sir. I understand,” Hermione said, carefully tucking the bottle into the inner pocket of her robes. 

“You may return to your dorm, Miss Granger. My first years have suffered enough at your quill.” He stood, shuffling the freshly graded essays before tossing them into a drawer. 

Hermione nodded, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before heading towards the door. 

“Miss Granger?” 

“I thought you said I could go? Or did you want me to terrorize your second years too?” Hermione said with a waspish grin, adjusting her leather satchel on her shoulder. 

Snape snorted, crossing his thin arms across his chest. “No. Meet me in my classroom at six o’clock on Wednesday. Don’t be late.” 

“I wouldn’t dare, Professor.” She hurried out without another word, allowing herself a small smile, the first smile she had in weeks. Maybe this was the distraction she needed, even if it was with her surly potions professor. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe.


	3. The other slytherin prince

“You’re barking if you’re telling me you had a lovely time with the dungeon bat,” Ron said with a playful shove, despite Hermione asking him a hundred times not to do that. 

“Ronald Weasley, if you push me again I will hex you into next week! And for your information, it was perfectly fine and his name is Professor Snape, not dungeon bat. Honestly, he’s not that bad.” Hermione grumbled, straightening her uniform.

Harry rolled his eyes, tramping alongside his best friends. “Come off it, Ron. She’s happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. Even if it is from hanging out with a snakey piece of shit like Snape.” 

Hermione groaned, pushing past the two boys to stride her way into the great hall. The smell of breakfast sent waves of nausea rolling through her, a phenomenon developed over the summer, much to Mrs. Weasley’s dismay. She kept her head down as she walked towards her usual spot at the well-worn Gryffindor table. She didn’t notice the potion master’s obsidian gaze, tracking her every move, from her hands tangled in her hair or her trembling fork. 

“Granger.” 

Hermione whipped around, brandishing her fork with an expert hand to face her attacker. A bemused Draco Malfoy stood before her, pushing aside her fork with a lazy hand. 

“What the hell do you want?” She spat. 

“Professor Snape has asked me to escort you to your next class,” Draco said wearily, ignoring the iron hot stare of the boy who lived, who was currently stabbing a sausage with his fork.

“Escort me? I can get there myself just fine, thank you.” 

“I’m sure you can, Granger. Unfortunately for the both us, he’s rather convinced that you can’t” Draco replied. 

“Why?” Hermione insisted, glaring Malfoy down, her chestnut eyes ablaze. 

“I don’t know Granger. I am merely following instructions. Don’t go off thinking I’m pleased.” Draco said with a smirk. 

Ron stood up, placing a heavy hand on Hermione’s shoulder, who grimaced at the weight of his sweaty palm. “Listen mate, she’s not going anywhere with you. Tell Snape we’ll be the ones escorting her,” He said, giving Draco his best menacing look, sneer unfamiliar and awkward beneath his mask of freckles. 

“I don’t need anyone to escort me!” Hermione shrieked, grabbing her bag and shoving Ron off of her. 

“Where are you going, ‘Mione? You didn’t eat anything!” Ron called after her, heart sinking as he watched her disappear from the Great Hall, curls bouncing with each stomp of her foot. 

Draco rolled his eyes and took off after her, doing his best not to break into a run. She was fast for a girl. “Granger! Wait a minute!” 

Hermione refused to stop, speeding towards the courtyard. Tears streamed down her round cheeks, stinging and too hot. At the sound of Draco’s thin voice, visions of the ministry swam in her head, flashes of light, shards of glass spilt on the rough stone floor, Harry screaming, Bellatrix’s laughter so sharp in her ears it was almost as she loomed over her shoulder. 

Draco finally caught up to her, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “You’re bloody quick, you know that? Might want to join quidditch with legs like that.” 

Hermione didn’t respond, collapsing onto a stone bench and hiding her face in her thick curtain of hair. The air was still, save for Malfoy’s gasping breath and the quiet sniffles emitting from Hermione. 

“You alright Granger?” Draco stepped as close as he dared. watching her balled fists out of the corner of his eye. He’d rather not have another repeat of third year if he could avoid it. 

“Shove off Malfoy. You’re the last person in the world I want to see right now,” Hermione muttered, breathing in the salt and vanilla smell of her hair, trying to find an ounce of comfort to hold onto. 

Draco sat down gingerly, taking care to keep at least a foot between them. “Are you crying?” He asked quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the dance of the hedges in the early morning breeze. 

“Obviously,” Hermione said, peeking out at him. 

Draco rummaged around in his robes before pulling out a perfectly pressed handkerchief, his initials gleaming emerald on the corner. He pressed it into her palm, letting his thin fingers rest atop hers for a moment. “I’m not here to bully you, Granger.” 

Hermione laughed, meekly patting her cheeks with his handkerchief. “Why not? That’s the only thing you ever do.” 

Draco sighed, pinching the delicate skin between his eyebrows before replying,”I know. I, well-I know apologizing will do anything but I’d like to try.” He watched Hermione carefully, trying to gauge her expression. No luck there. “I had no right to hurt you. I was cruel to you. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s it? You call me mudblood for the last six years, terrorize my friends, threaten us and that’s all you have to say?” Hermione spat, turning to face him with shaking fists. 

“It’s not enough, I know. I don’t really know where to start. My idiotic godfather wants me to be kinder to you and I want to do that.” Draco wrung his hands in his lap, refusing to look at her. 

“Your godfather?” Hermione asked. 

“Snape. That’s why he wanted me to walk you to class.”

Hermione frowned. Snape was Draco’s godfather? Interesting. “Let me get this straight. So you want to be friends all the sudden because Snape asked you, when just two weeks ago you broke Harry’s nose? If you’re trying to tell me you’ve changed, you’re doing a godawful job of it.” 

“Potter was spying on me. I had to teach him a lesson,” Draco said carefully. 

Hermione snorted, straightening her skirt. “Listen, Malfoy. If you really want to be better, be kinder to me or whatever it is Snape has convinced you to do, you will never call anyone mudblood again, you will apologize to Ron and Harry, and stop being such an arsehole all the time.” 

Draco grimaced at the thought of apologizing to his archnemesis but thought better of it. It wasn’t like he had any friends left anyway. Not that they’d really be friends. Can’t exactly imagine opening up to the Gryffindor Princess about his feeble plan to murder their headmaster and then having tea after. “Right. I’ll do that.” 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Now I’ve got to get to Arithmancy. Are you coming?” 

Draco nodded, outstretching his arm to pull her to her feet. Hermione stared at it, like the moment she touched him he would turn into a writhing pile of snakes. The way her nightmares were lately, she wouldn’t be surprised. Eventually she took it, swaying a little as she got back on her feet. Up close, Draco didn’t look like the usual portrait of blood aristocracy. Instead, his skin was almost grey, the skin beneath his cool grey eyes an alarming shade of lavender. Maybe Snape could clue her in on all this weird behavior, if she didn’t kill him first. 

They walked in silence, the halls roaring with whispers as Gryffindors and Slytherins alike took in the sight of the unlikely pair. Draco glared at them while Hermione took pains to appear oblivious, desperate to avoid any more attention. Half the time she was making plans to disappear or live in the forbidden forest just to escape the looks of concerns and occasional malice. Draco didn’t seem bothered, puffing out his chest and nodding to a bewildered Professor Mcgonagall as they passed. 

She looks as exhausted as I do, Draco thought to himself, taking in the blotchy cheeks and disheveled uniform of his former foe. What had happened to Hermione Granger? The perfectly put together, overachiever, fireball that had annoyed him for five years was gone, replaced with an equally hot-tempered girl, but she carried an immense sadness with her, evident in the stoop of her shoulders and swollen eyes. Whatever it was, he’d figure it out. Snape would kill him if he didn’t. He hardly expected to live past the end of the year anyways.


	4. Dreamless Sleep

She shouldn’t be out here. Hermione Granger did not break the rules; at least, if Harry wasn’t in danger she didn’t. Yet here she was, wandering the halls at 3 AM in her lavender nightgown, her bare feet padding near silently on the dust trodden stone floor. She wished briefly that she had a sleepwalking problem. There was hardly any room to punish a sleepwalker, and it’d give her a real reason to be out wandering. Hermione didn’t have any reason, other than the hands that reached for her in her nightmares, white-hot and ugly. They followed her in the waking world too, heavy footsteps never far behind her, sharp whispers, shadows at the edges of her imagination. Her parents had forced her to go to a muggle therapist over the summer after she had stopped talking altogether. It was difficult, cobbling together the most sane sounding version of the battle at the ministry. The therapist had believed her anyway, appalled that a grown man had attacked a teenager and no one seemed to know about it. 

He had diagnosed her with PTSD, scribbled down a list of SSRI’s for her to try and pressed into her hand from his too-new leather chair. Hermione had promptly shoved it at the bottom of her bag and never looked at it again. She didn’t much like Dr. Parretti. He was an unusually thin man with perpetually crossed arms, beetle-black eyes, and the thinnest lips she’d ever seen. He always looked at her with a disinterested air, like she was something to be studied, like he’d never had the pleasure of diagnosing someone so young with PTSD. She wasn’t supposed to have it. Nothing was supposed to addle her brilliant mind. Nothing could rob her of her potential, the future her teachers always assured her was waiting for her. PTSD was reserved for broken adults and soldiers, but she’d be lying if she didn’t already know this war would be won by teenagers. 

It wasn’t like the wizarding world recognized her diagnosis. Hermione had thought of telling Harry, but decided against it after imagining how he’d respond after losing Sirius and a mass murderer living in his head. Instead she had decided to carry it in secret, revealed only to Crookshanks in the safety of her drawn bed curtains. I should’ve taken those pills, Hermione thought as she paced, running her hands through her unruly curls. If she took them that would be an acceptance of her condition, and that was something she couldn’t handle. It was easier to pretend that she was managing fine on her own, to lose herself in the stale parchment of her textbooks, to keep going as best as she could. 

The nightmares were unavoidable. She’d already drained the vial of dreamless sleep Snape had given her, but she wasn’t about to ask for more, especially since he had warned her of it’s addicting effects. Her dormitory was filled with Lavender’s snickers and Parvarti’s endless questions. It helped to roam. If she stayed still for too long, Dolohov would emerge from the corner of her room and split her in half. I ought to ask Harry for his cloak. Or steal it, she thought absentmindedly, approaching a shadowy alcove when a leather-gloved hand clamped down on her shoulder. 

Hermione whipped around faster than she thought capable, raising her fist to drive into the face of her attacker, only to be met with the bemused face of Severus Snape. He caught her wrist before she could break his nose, letting out a low chuckle at her outraged expression. “Miss Granger. I do not need to inform you that you are not permitted to be out of bed at this hour.” 

A strangled noise came from the back of her throat, a thousand excuses racing through her head before her body decided it was better if she burst into tears. Severus stared at her, unsure what to do while the sobs racked her small body. He sighed and pulled her into his chest, wincing as her tears immediately soaked his robes. Hermione only cried harder, pressing her face into the hard wall of his chest, inhaling the strong scent of herbs, freshly plucked eucalyptus, black coffee and some other earthly smell she couldn’t quite place. At least he didn’t smell like potions ingredients. 

“I’m sorry sir. I know I’m not supposed to be out of bed, I just couldn’t- well, I was afraid, er- I didn’t want to be in my dorms anymore, I-,” Hermione babbled, clinging to the surprisingly soft fabric of his teaching robes. 

Snape gently pushed her away from him, but allowed her to keep hold of his arm in the hopes that her tears would stop sometime soon. “Come with me, Miss Granger.” 

She stared back at him, waiting for his usual stream of insults. He snorted, and started striding towards the dungeons, robes billowing behind him. She followed reluctantly, unsure what terrible punishment awaited her at their destination. They walked together in silence, Hermione desperately trying to keep up as he navigated the dungeons in the dark, trying to keep her mind from inventing horrors lurking in the shadows. Finally they reached a portrait of a nymph reclining in a babbling stream, the stars winking above her as she watched the pair curiously. 

“Manticore,” he murmured, the portrait swinging open to reveal his surprisingly cosy quarters. 

Hermione stood in the doorway, every bone in her body telling her she was not allowed to be here. Severus didn’t notice, shedding his outer robe and tossing it on the arm of the emerald green couch. She took a tentative step forward, bracing herself as if alarms would blare if she was caught in a teacher’s private quarters. The door swung shut behind her, forcing her all the way into his sitting room. 

Snape looked up at the sound of her feet thudding to the ground, noticing immediately that she was shivering in the damp cold of the dungeons. “I don’t bite you know,” He said, casting a warming charm. 

“Everyone thinks you do,” Hermione said, standing perfectly still. 

“Would I have taken you here if I did?” Snape stepped closer to her and she flinched, but he only offered her a knit blanket, a garish orange thing, decidedly out of place here. 

She took it reluctantly, drawing it around her shoulders like a shroud. “Why did you take me here? I can’t imagine you’re allowed to have students in here.” 

Snape smirked, the fireplace erupting behind him with a flick of his hand. “No, I’m afraid not. However, you’re safer here and I doubt that you would’ve gone back to your dormitory if I forced you to.” 

Hermione sat gingerly on the far end of the couch, absentmindedly stroking the velvet. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Granger?” He asked, already heading to the small kitchen across the room. 

“That would be nice,” She replied, studying the room curiously. She never imagined what the professors’ rooms were like, let alone Snape’s. I expected something a lot creepier than this. Not an armchair made of skulls creepy, but at least some pickled eyeballs, She thought, stifling a giggle as she imagined a room closer to Dracula’s than her surly professors. It was warm, the couch and armchairs stuffed with pillows, all a shade of mint. The only picture on the mantelpiece was a muggle photograph of an unsmiling woman, her hair the same oily waves as Snape’s. A small desk stood in the corner, a cheery shade of yellow that should’ve appalled Snape. An army of plants stood watch over the various stacks of parchment and open books, framed on either side by bookshelves groaning under the weight of leather bound tomes. She itched to run her fingers along their cracking spines, but thought better of it. 

“I assure you Miss Granger, most of my books will not be so kind to you. My tastes are far darker than the restricted section,” Snape said, gently setting a steaming mug in front of her. 

“I’d like to read them anyway,” Hermione said stiffly, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. 

Severus settled into the armchair across from her. In the firelight she could see the dark stains on his tunic, the blood dried black in menacing streaks across his pale face. His gaze turned cold when he realized what she was doing. “It is rude to stare,” He said, glaring at her. 

Hermione paid no mind. “What happened to you? Were you with Vol-” 

“Do not say his name!” Snape snarled, clutching the arms of his chair with white knuckles. “I was summoned. Not that it is any of your business, Miss Granger. Why were you out of bed?” 

“Whose blood is that?” Hermione glared back, fighting the urge to slip her hand into her wand pocket. 

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours,” Snape said coolly, watching her carefully. 

“My nightmares. I can’t stand to be alone up there. I keep seeing Dolohov. Everywhere. It feels like it’s happening all over again. My chest aches, I can feel my ribcage tearing open. I can’t control it. It helps to walk,” Hermione rushed, the words coming easily in the dimly lit room. Maybe it was because she needed to tell someone. Maybe it was because she knew Snape wouldn’t pity her. Maybe it was because she wanted him to understand. 

Snape nodded, taking a sip of his tea, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the bitter taste. “A death eater failed this evening. Fortunately, it was not me. The dark lord thought it prudent that he be punished.” 

Hermione mirrored him, though her tea tasted of nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. “It doesn’t hurt you? To watch another suffer?”

“Contrary to what your idiotic friends may think, I do have a heart. Though I cannot afford to feel for those among our ranks. I remember every one of their faces. I don’t sleep either,” Snape said bitterly, cradling his head in his willowy fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said weakly, unsure what to do with his unfamiliar vulnerability. 

“There is no need to apologize, Miss Granger. The war began long before you were born.” 

“I am still sorry, though. All this is new to me. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for 20 years.” She watched as he lifted his head to meet her gaze, something inscrutable in the dark depths of his eyes, though it was gone in an instant. 

“If you need to get away- If you cannot sleep or it becomes too much, you may come here. I am not fond of teenage emotions but I’d rather you be here than be alone. There are many in this world keen to hurt you, Miss Granger. It would not do to tempt them,” He said awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

She could feel the familiar stinging already. What was this? He cared about her? He wanted her safe? It could be a trap. At this point she didn’t care. She felt safe here, tucked away in the dungeons. He didn’t ask many questions, didn’t press her, didn’t ask anything of her. “Thank you, sir.” 

He nodded, turning his attention to his tea. “I expect you to complete your apprenticeship duties as well. You may brew here if you wish.” 

“I can go back to my dorms now. It’ll be morning soon,” She said, but she wanted to stay here beneath the lives of her classmates, hidden away with the miserable man before her. 

“Very well. I will escort you.” 

The journey from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower was far too short, dawn chasing them through the silent hallways, the portraits whispering as the Gryffindor Princess tramped alongside the feared Potions Master. Filch was nowhere to be seen thankfully, and they arrived at the Fat Lady without one glimpse of the gruff old man or his menacing feline. Hermione turned to thank Snape but he had already vanished, the only trace of him the lingering scent of Eucalyptus. She fell asleep as her roommates stirred, and for the first time in weeks she did not dream.


	5. Hogsmeade

“Hermione? We asked you a question. You haven’t looked up from that book once in the last two hours,” Harry badgered, laying a gentle hand on his best friend’s shoulder. 

Hermione startled, catching her coveted copy of Potions Monthly moments before it hit the floor. “Sorry, I was distracted,” Hermione mumbled, which was true. What she had been distracted by, however, was the fact that Snape had written the article she had been reading, and apparently submitted quite frequently. It was no wonder no one found out, she’d hardly be surprised to learn she was the first Hogwarts Student to read something so dry, but she was dying to ask him about it. 

“You’re always distracted lately,” Ron grunted, narrowing his eyes. 

Harry cast Ron a stern look before turning his attention back to Hermione. “Look, I just wanted to know if you’re coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow. You’ve been hanging out with Snape so much we’ve barely seen you.” 

“Oh, that’s tomorrow?” Hermione racked her brain for any excuse to get out of it- she hardly felt up to school these days, let alone a day packed full of classmates and Harry’s delirious muttering about Malfoy’s evil plans. “I guess so.” 

Harry grinned, his emerald eyes glowing softly in the firelight. “Finally! I thought you’d gotten sick of us.” 

“I’m not sick of you, I’m just busy,” Hermione said, digging her fingernails into her thigh in a vain attempt to release the twinge of annoyance that stirred at his words. 

“Busy with Snape? What’s he got you doing down there anyway?” Ron scoffed, crossing his arms tightly across his wiry chest. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve been grading essays. I’m helping him brew potions for Madame Pomfrey this week.” 

“Dunno why you’d rather do that instead of be with your friends,” Ron muttered.   
“Oh really? I’d rather not watch the two of you go on about quidditch and play wizard chess every night! At least Professor Snape can hold a stimulating conversation,” Hermione snapped, snatching up her schoolbag and books in one wild motion. 

Before her two baffled companions could respond, she had already stormed away and up the stairs to her dorm, collapsing on her bed with a soft thud. Idiots, the both of them, she thought, collapsing onto her pillow. If she wasn’t spending so much time in the dungeons, neither of them would care. What was she good for anyway? The brains of the golden trio and not much else. Neither of them had noticed that something was wrong with her. Harry had spent the little time she saw him over the summer bemoaning the rise of Voldemort and his loss of Sirius, not for a moment realizing that she had barely said a word back. 

Ron was another story. He had been happy to see her, sure, for all of fifteen minutes. She had feelings for him, in an abstract kind of way. They had always been there, hovering in the background somewhere, caught between schemes and their constant bickering. Hermione didn’t know if that was true anymore. After the Ministry it was harder to be around her friends, whether it be that she really wasn’t up to taking care of anyone anymore or that Ron and his temper were sure to cause another storm of tears. He had asked how she was and she tried to tell him the truth. He couldn’t or- wouldn’t understand. He tried at first. There were a few nights she spent crying in his arms after a particularly bad nightmare but he quickly tired of her moods and avoided being alone with her until they boarded the train. 

Maybe they were used to her figuring everything out on her own. It didn’t matter. If Severus bloody Snape could notice something was deeply wrong with her, so could they. Hermione groaned into her pillow, already dreading tomorrow. Maybe she could stay up all night again and avoid it all together but they’d probably force her to go anyways. 

************************

Hermione walked with Harry and Ron in silence, broken only by a muttered fuck when Ron nearly went sliding down the rain-slick hill, narrowly avoiding the muddy mess below. By the time they shuffled into the Three Broomsticks, the trio were all sopping wet, Hermione’s thick locks practically plastered to her face. 

“I fucking hate Scotland,” Harry groaned, wiping his glasses on the thick cotton jersey he was currently dripping in. 

Ron and Hermione grumbled in agreement, Hermione casting warming charms over them. Ron steered them forward, his lankiness allowing him to peer over the heads of their buzzed classmates. Hermione gripped Harry’s hand so hard he winced, the thunder of voices beating down on her. She squeezed her eyes shut, drowning out the bodies that pressed into her, the web of sweatered arms and twisting legs, reaching for her. It was too late by the time she realized she was screaming. A pair of muscular arms ripped her up and above the fog that had filled her brain, shaking her back to life. 

“Granger! Granger look at me!” 

Hermione woke with a gasp, lunging out of the arms of a beet red Draco Malfoy and straight into Harry. “What happened?” 

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking at Hermione with wide eyes. “We were trying to get through to the back and you just started screaming and by the time I turned around you were gone,” Harry said, glaring at Draco. “Then, Malfoy decided to be a hero.” 

Hermione groaned inwardly, not looking forward to being the talk of the girls’ dormitories. “Well, thanks Draco. Let’s go sit. Now, please,” Hermione said, her voice one octave away from being shrill. 

Harry and Ron nodded, leading the way to a table at the back, the crowd parting to get a glimpse at the disheveled girl between them. Hermione focused on her breathing, counting each rise and fall of her chest until she was safe, tucked into a corner booth with her friends on either side of her. 

“Haven’t you done enough, Malfoy?” Harry said with a grimace, studying the slouched blonde boy hovering in front of their table. 

“Look, Potter. I’ve got something to say to you,” Draco said, running a hand through his slicked back hair. 

“We don’t want to hear it,” Ron snarled, moving to stand. 

Draco sighed, wringing his hands, staring at a particularly shiny spot on the freshly waxed table top. “I’ve been a git. To all of you. You don’t have to believe me, but I want to apologize for treating all of you the way I did. I was wrong. I’d like to do better now.” 

Harry scoffed. “So what? You tried to kill me a month ago and now you’d like to be friends? Sorry if I’m not exactly thrilled, Malfoy. We want nothing to do with you.” 

Hermione cleared her throat, looking up from behind her frizzy waves. “He’s not lying. He wants to be better.” 

Ron choked on his butterbeer, sticky foam rolling down his freckled chin. “What the hell are you talking about? You? He’s awful to you! He called you the ‘M’ word more times than I can remember! He just gets to decide to be nice all of the sudden and we’re supposed to forgive him?”   
“No, Ron. You don’t have to be friends with him. You don’t have to forgive him,” Hermione paused, noticing the disappointment in Draco’s eyes, “I however have chosen to be his friend. On a trial basis, obviously. Weren’t you listening to the sorting hat this year? Voldemort is coming for Harry, and we need all the allies we can get.” 

Draco winced at the mention of Voldemort but kept quiet, giving Hermione the smallest of nods. Harry muttered something under his breath, gripping the rough-cut edges of the table as if his life depended on it. “Look, Malfoy. Sorry if I don’t exactly trust you. How do I know that you’re trying to get close to me as a part of your plans? You haven’t fooled me.” 

Hermione groaned, burying her head in her hands. “Not this again, Harry. You can’t honestly believe Draco’s a death eater. He’s not of age!” 

“It doesn’t matter how old he is! It’s never stopped Voldemort before, has it? If the bloke’s running around murdering babies, what would stop him from taking in Draco?” Harry’s words had drawn the attention of the crowd, though it didn’t help that he was practically shouting. 

Draco cleared his throat, drawing the blue velvet of his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he stood to face the fuming boy-who-lived. “Clearly this was a bad idea. I simply wanted to let you know that you won’t have to be concerned with me any longer. I apologize for intruding,” He said, extending a pale hand to Harry. 

Harry stared at Malfoy’s outstretched hand, the onlookers holding their breath, even Severus Snape who had slipped in when no one was looking. Hermione caught his eye and he inclined his head, his eyes as still and unfathomable as ever. She wished that Draco would put his bloody hand away and be done with it, but he was unmovable, clearly unperturbed by both the disbelief of his classmates and the heavy glare of his godfather. After what seemed like hours, Harry finally reached forward and shook Draco’s hand, far too firmly for Hermione’s liking. At least he hadn’t reached out and punched him in his delicate nose. Hermione had beaten him to it, anyway. 

Draco merely nodded, casually shoving his hand in his pocket as if he and Harry shook hands all the time. “See you around, Granger.” 

“See you, Malfoy,” She replied, turning to give both of her best friends her best stern expression to keep them from opening their mouths. 

“Miss Granger. A word,” Snape drawled, startling Harry and Ron. Hermione merely stood and followed his lead out of the pub, grateful that his presence carved a wide path before them. She figured they’d have a conversation sooner rather than later; there was no doubt in her mind that kindness from Severus Snape did not come without a price. 

He led her towards the outskirts of the village, closer to the shrieking shack. A strange feeling crept at the back of her neck, like someone had brushed against her spine. She wondered briefly if Snape had liked Hogsmeade Weekends as a teenager, though that seemed unlikely. Harry had shakily recalled his father tormenting a young Snape, a fact which Hermione found neither interesting or uninteresting. After watching Sirius treat Harry like a reincarnated James hardly made her have faith in James Potter and his friends. Every now and again she imagined what a young Snape would be like. Sometimes he was closer to Draco, a pale boy with a mouth full of slurs. Sometimes he was quiet, kept to his potions and the other Slytherins. Nothing she could imagine could explain the harsh, bitter man she knew and occasionally feared. 

Severus paid her no mind. He thought she might be revisiting her third year, grimacing at the reminder of facing the werewolf. At least he was gone from Hogwarts. Curse or no curse, he would have made sure he stayed gone. 

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t think we can go any further.” Hermione peered up at him, her hair stirring in the breeze. 

“My apologies, Miss Granger. I did not wish to risk being overheard,” Snape explained, casting muffliato around them for good measure. 

Hermione frowned, her brain already whirring with suspicions. “Where did that spell come from?” 

Snape stared at her for a moment, a ghost of a smile passing over his features. “Me. I invented it when I was a student.” 

Hermione laughed, bright and bubbly in the crisp fall air. Snape stared at her, unsure what to do with a giggling student. He never had to deal with them. She doubled over at his expression, only stopping after her second coughing fit. “I’m so sorry, Professor, really. It’s just that, well, there’s a reason Harry’s been doing so well in potions since you stopped teaching it. Well, to everyone but me of course.” 

Snape quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms, his voluptuous robes floating around him. Although he’d never admit it, he did occasionally have the tendency to look like a bat. “I assumed that Potter did better without my tutelage.” 

“Well, he found an old copy of Advanced Potion Making with loads of writing all over it. He’s obsessed with it. He’s always going on about the great Half Blood Prince. And it’s you! He thinks it’s his dad, the prat,” Hermione babbled, ignoring the glare coming from her teacher. 

Snape allowed himself a small snort, careful not to let his Occlumency shields down. As angry as it made him that Potter of all people had gotten a hold of his textbook, it was too much not to think of the boy daydreaming about his dad being a potions extraordinaire. “If I catch any of you using my spells in my classes I will make sure you spend the rest of your apprenticeship scrubbing cauldrons. The muggle way, mind you.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it sir.” 

“Make sure Potter stays away from anything ‘for enemies’. I was so-restrained in those days. It’ll keep him out of trouble,” Snape said, clear he would not elaborate further. 

Hermione nodded, chewing her bottom lip. “What did you want to talk to me about, Sir?” 

“I was not aware that Draco had any intention of making amends with your little friends,” Snape said awkwardly. 

“Oh, like you didn’t ask him to babysit me?” Hermione squared her shoulders, studying him. If he thought he could meddle with her like every other blasted adult did, he had another thing coming. 

“I did not ask him to babysit you. I merely suggested he be kinder to you. The both of you are dealing with things far darker than you should.” Snape looked amused at her feeble attempt at scare tactics. 

“Right. Well, I told him if he wanted me to begin to forgive him he would have to apologize to Harry and Ron. Neither of them noticed that he walked me to Arithmancy the other day or else there wouldn’t have been such a big show of it.” 

Snape considered her for a moment. He had been tasked with looking after both her and Draco, not to mention being Potter’s protector. It had made things simpler. He couldn’t save his godson now, pity that it was. He wasn’t an idiot. He was a bright boy, save for his idiotic ideas about blood supremacy. If he were a hopeful man he could see Draco’s salvation in the hands of the girl before him, but he had learned to give up on hope a long time ago. “It would be...unwise for Draco to be seen with you. If his father learns who he has been spending time with him, he could make things very unpleasant for all of you.” 

Hermione scoffed. “What do you want then? For us not to be friends? Why? Because his father would rather rid the world of mudbloods like me then watch his son be seen near one? Why should I listen to you? Why should that be allowed?” 

“Do not say that word,” Snape said icily, taking a step forward so that he loomed over the Gryffindor, whose mess of curls were currently giving off blue sparks. “Be discreet. That is all that I am asking.” 

“Fine. Frankly, I don’t care what happens. He’s coming. We can all sit here and pretend like it all isn’t happening. I’ve seen the prophet. Muggle families murdered every day! Whether or not I’m friends with Draco, Daddy Malfoy and his friends will try to kill me anyway. Draco can decide who he wants to stand with when the time comes.” 

“Foolish girl. You know nothing, nothing of what it was like. This is child’s play. The Dark Lord is far closer to power than he was twenty years ago, and nothing will stop him now,” Severus roared, his expression twisted with rage. 

Hermione knew she had gone too far, but she didn’t care. She was tired of people telling her she didn't know anything. She’d nearly died at Lucius’ hands and still everyone wanted to explain to her that things were far more complicated than she’d ever understand. “I’ve fought before. I’ll fight again. I wasn’t there twenty years ago but I’m here now. This is my war as much as it is yours Professor Snape.” 

“You are a child,” He sneered. 

“Professor Dumbledore doesn’t seem to mind having children fight his wars for him,” Hermione said softly, her eyes hardening. 

Snape didn’t say a word, unable to think of a response that wouldn’t land him in deep shit with the headmaster. Hermione glowered at him and stormed away, the maple leaves beneath her feet flying madly as she walked. Snape sighed and followed slightly behind. Bloody Gryffindors.


	6. the corridors

Snape had ignored her the entire weekend. Hermione had tried everything. She spent all breakfast and dinner staring at the tight-lipped professor, waiting for him to return the favor. Instead, he sneered down into his plate, as if he was in an argument with his potatoes and not the impetulant Gryffindor burning holes in his head from across the room. She had wandered the dungeons in the middle of the night, wrapped in the safety of Harry’s cloak. Still, if he was awake he stayed in his rooms, forgoing his nighttime rituals to continue to ignore her. After another unsuccessful attempt at breakfast, she had spent all of her classes quietly scheming before Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

She walked alone in the bright bustle of Monday afternoon, the other sixth years laughing and joking before their last class of the day. Malfoy was mysteriously absent today. There had been no trace of him since the scene he’d put on in Hogsmeade, although Hermione wasn’t sure if that was due to the nonstop gossip about his loyalties or if he’d decided being a good person wasn’t his thing anymore. 

The blonde in question suddenly loped in front of her, his collar undone, hair splayed out in all directions. “Granger!” He exclaimed, draping one willowy arm over her shoulders. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, the questioning glares of her classmates lingering as they strolled past. “What happened to you? I haven’t seen you since Hogsmeade.” 

“Nothing. A bit of business is all,” He said, staring down at the cobblestone floor. 

Hermione stayed silent. Whatever possible business Malfoy got into, she couldn’t convince herself that it was anything good. 

“Oi! Draco! What’re you doing with a mudblood?” Goyle spat, his dough-like features reddening at the awful word. 

Hermione recoiled, trying to slip out of Draco’s grasp. She didn’t need this, not now. Not like this. 

“Don’t call her that Goyle.” Draco moved in front of Hermione, shielding her with his cloak. 

Goyle sneered, drawing his wand. “Didn’t take you for a blood traitor. Wait until he finds out.” 

“Not bloody likely,” Draco snarled, lunging forward with his wand raised, but Goyle was surprisingly quick. Hermione quickly shoved herself against the wall, watching in horror as Malfoy howled in pain, boils erupting in his previously clear cheeks, pale pink and angry. Goyle only laughed, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike piling around the pair. Hermione gasped, the crush of raised voices raining down hard somewhere deep inside her, the wound that never closed. 

She could barely make out Draco’s snide tone out of the fifty mouths currently screaming with him. There were too many conversations, the clink of Galleons dumped into a bag, the cracks and thuds of the hidden duel. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing her panic to go away. 

Suddenly Goyle flew back in a shower of red sparks, propelled to the back of the hall, bowling over second years in the process. Hermione’s eyes widened and she dove into the swarm, reaching for the disheveled blonde in their center. She stumbled to him, nearly tripping over her boots before grabbing fistfuls of Draco’s cloak. He steadied her, a silent understanding passing through them. 

“Mister Malfoy, dare I ask what happened here?” Snape stood before them, greasy black hair falling around his face, making his nose appear smaller than usual.. 

“Just saving the Gryffindor princess, sir.” Draco met Severus’ gaze, eyes clouding as his occlumency shields slammed down. The older man cursed, raising an eyebrow half in admiration, half in annoyance. 

“Rather Gryffindor thing to do, isn’t it?” Snape crossed his arms, pointedly ignoring Hermione, who looked like she had quite a few things she’d like to say. 

“I suppose it is, sir.” Draco linked arms with Hermione and marched into the former potions master's classroom, taking a seat at the back, adjacent to her usual spot with Harry and Ron. 

Severus watched them carefully, scrutinizing the gentle hand on her back and his injured Slytherin crouching in the hall. He had asked Draco to help her, that was true. He had not expected him to do so...publicly. The Dark Lord was bound to interrogate him eventually. Now that Goyle had been injured it was inevitable. He pressed his palm to his dark mark, feeling for a moment a shadow of pain, a bruise that lived permanently on his forearm. Vow or not, he would do anything to keep Draco intact. The boy was a monster, but he hadn’t always been. Not that long ago, he was simply a chubby toddler with feathered hair, babbling at Severus while he sent emerald bubbles floating around his room. Draco was too smart to spew pureblood bullshit for the rest of his life. 

With a flick of his wrist the lesson glimmered on the board, the dimly lit classroom immediately filled with loud groans. Severus crossed his arms and turned to glare at them. “Twelve feet of parchment due tomorrow on the use of nonverbal spells in defense for attacking each other in the hallways. This is a school, not a battleground. I will not accept late work.” 

Hermione’s hand shot up in the air though the eager excitement was long gone from her round face. 

“Yes, Miss Granger?” 

“Sorry, sir, but what happens if we don’t turn it in?”

Draco looked appalled at her question, jabbing her in the side with one sharp elbow. 

“I hardly see how that is a relevant question, considering that each and every one of you will be turning it in tomorrow.” 

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, mimicking his signature glare. “But what if I don’t want to?”

“Fifty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for asking an idiotic question.” 

Ron hissed, smacking his forehead. Harry kept his eyes on Snape, though more than anything he wanted to look back at Hermione. What the hell was she doing? Why was Hermione fucking Granger provoking a teacher?

“Go ahead. I still won’t turn it in. If Goyle hadn’t opened his fat mouth we wouldn’t have been fighting,” Hermione said coolly. 

Snape lunged towards her, planting his hands on either side of her small frame. “Is that so?” he said quietly, his hooked nose barely an inch from her face. 

“He called me a Mudblood. He can die for all I care.” 

Snape stared at her, not removing his grip from the desk. Hermione glared back, daring him to react. Instead, he continued to loom over her while the class waited with bated breath for his answer. 

“Detention, Miss Granger. Every night this week,” He hissed, returning to his desk with a swish of his robes. “Don’t look so pleased Mr. Goyle. You will find yourself in detention for a month with Mr. Filch.” 

Goyle’s mouth hung open, his beady eyes practically bulging out of his head. The Slytherins didn’t know who to look at, their head of house punishing one of their own, or Hermione who had never given teachers attitude, unless it was Trelawney. Goyle suddenly grunted,”Malfoy’s the one who fought me. Serves him right for hanging out with filth like her.” 

Snape had his wand out in an instant, a black fury entangled in his robes, his mouth curled into the most vicious sneer he could muster. Goyle shoved his chair back with a screech, scrambling for his wand pocket, but Severus was faster, wordlessly disarming him. “If you ever choose to speak in that way in my classroom again, I will cut your tongue out and owl it to your mother.” 

Goyle nodded his head, doing everything in his power to distance himself from his head of house. 

Severus scowled, testing Goyle’s walnut wand in his wiry fingers, barely stopping himself from snapping it in two. “You’ve just earned yourself another month’s detention, Mr. Goyle.” 

“S-sorry sir, won’t happen again,” Goyle gulped, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. 

The professor glared at the mess of a boy. What a pathetic excuse for a human being. The lot of them were. He strode to his desk, settling unevenly on the edge, daring them to speak. No one met his blazing look, most of his students rather interested in a spot on the ceiling, save Hermione, who was currently beaming at him. Unbelievable. 

“Out. All of you. I cannot bear to deal with your idiocy a moment longer.” Severus pinched his temple, narrowing his eyes as not a single person moved. “Now.” 

They were gone in an instant, fifty of them reduced to a flurry of movement, the clatter of ink bottles rolling across the stone floor, anxious whispers, the occasional cry as their homework slipped away from them. Finally he could be alone. Away from the whole sordid bunch. 

“Sir? I’d like to discuss something with you.” 

Severus scowled, repulsed by the devilish girl who crowed for his attention. 

“There is nothing to discuss.” 

Hermione stood with a scrape of her chair, somehow looking a foot taller in the amber light filtering in from the gauzy scarlet curtains above. “I believe there is quite a bit to be discussed! You being a prick for one.” 

She was met with the sickening sound of ground teeth, the man before her the portrait of fury, his thick eyebrows bristling as he fought the urge to shake her. “I have nothing to apologize for, therefore there will be no discussion. Choose your next words carefully Miss Granger or the Gryffindor hourglass will be drained within the next ten minutes.” 

Hermione groaned inwardly. Why did he have to be so stubborn? A part of her still feared him, the bat out of hell from her childhood, who had laughed at her teeth and marked her down simply for knowing the right answer. He had made the mistake of showing her the Severus who knew nightmares, who spoke softly and carefully, who wouldn’t dare leave her alone in the tower if her lungs flitted in her chest like beetles. She only hoped he hadn’t closed that door. 

“Right. Well, I’ll see you in detention. Maybe we can talk about it then?” Hermione gave him her best innocent smile, her new teeth bared for all to see. 

Severus sighed, staring resolutely at his dragon hide boots and nowhere near her. “Perhaps. If your attitude improves there may be something to discuss.” 

It took every ounce of her being to stay perfectly still, and calmly respond, “Good.” 

He glared at her, idly toying with his robes. “Well, get out.” 

Hermione dashed away without so much as a look back. Though she had tempted his rage multiple times today, she didn’t quite feel up to getting yelled at anymore. Severus watched her go, her mess of curls bouncing with each step. If she thought he was going to apologize for calling her a child, she was barking.


End file.
